


Proximity

by ellebellebab



Category: Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:03:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebellebab/pseuds/ellebellebab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce sees stars and constellations in James' eyes, hears symphonies in his almost inaudible groans and he inhales it all. Let's it seep into his bones and drug his mind until all he is is James and all James is is him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proximity

There’s a moment when you’re so wrapped up in someone that it feels like you cease to exist entirely. When you feel like your whole being is just nerve endings and synapses, crackling and fizzling and exploding like fireworks on a warm night when you’ve had too many drinks and your face feels numb from it all.  
  
The push and the pull gets too much and your brain shuts off entirely, only responding autonomously to the actions of your lover, just knowing it’s too good to stop, even if it’s too much, too overwhelming in the best way. Sometimes Bruce will have flashbacks to these moments that hit him like a freight train, stabbing through his mind and making him break out in a cold sweat. Images of him and James wrapped up in each other, hot and writhing and so real it’s like he’s reliving it. Nights they’d spend together after a bullet had been too close, after a grenade’s proximity had singed the hairs on their head.  
  
Too many times he’d looked out across whatever scene was playing out before them, Bruce keeping count of his boys. Lawrence’s dark hair accompanied by his garish gold sniper rifle, picking off police from behind a concrete barrier. Adam next to him counting in his head before throwing grenades over his shoulder, grinning when he hears the screams after the inevitable explosion. Joel a safe distance away in a car, giving them updates into ear pieces of the police’s movements and occasionally providing cover fire if things got too dire. Spoole and Matt hovering above in a chopper raining hell and ready to pick them up in a moments notice.  
  
Then there was James. Always on his left and always holding a fucking bright red gun. A sniper or a pistol or even a flare gun if he was feeling particularly ruthless, doubling over in laughter as he set cop after cop alight, infecting Bruce with giddiness as he watched the mans eyes light up, paved with sparkles from the flames of destruction that they’d laid in front of them.  
  
Those were the good nights. The nights when they all worked as a perfectly oiled machine. Getting away with whatever loot they’d set out for; money, jewellery, gold even expensive technology that they could easily buy but it wasn’t about that, it was about the thrill of it. The thrill of the chase and the fight and the feeling of euphoria when they returned to their base and looked at each other with dilated pupils and broad grins, basking in their shared glow of pulling it off and emerging unscathed.  
  
But there were other nights when fate wasn’t on their side. When Joel was speaking loud and fast because there were so many police on the scene he couldn’t keep up with them. Nights when Spoole had to fly quickly towards the ocean because the cops had taken shot after shot at them and Matt was grazed with bullets and the chopper was dangerously smoky. Bruce would look over at his boys then. Lawrence with his eyes shut tight and his lips moving quickly, simultaneously blind firing over his shoulder and calculating the possible routes out of their current situation. Adam throwing grenades and bombs over his shoulders with less finesse, one hand grabbing onto Lawrence's leg occasionally and squeezing, holding on in a way that had Bruce's heart breaking and swelling like angry waters against a storm.

  
James was always the worst for Bruce, the other man's face screwed up in concentration as he sniped as many threats as he could, as he surveyed the area for a way out, his other hand fumbling to find the ordinance they'd packed, blowing their way out of there sometimes the only choice.  
  
There'd be moments when the firing overhead would be too insistent, there'd be no time for them to get a shot in edgeways and instead they'd have to wait it out. The few seconds dragging on for hours as James curled his fingers against Bruce's and squeezed wondering if their luck had finally ran out, if they'd officially gone to big and bitten off more than they could chew. Bruce would squeeze back helplessly, trying not to look at the other man lest he see any source of anguish in his eyes.

Every time they'd push back, scraping in by the skin of their teeth and escaping bruised and battered but with their lives. Joel would pick them up, fingers gripping the steering wheel until they turned white, tight lipped as he speeds off. Adam recounting their injuries with slow precision and only stopping when he'd heard where Spoole and Matt were and if they were okay.

On those nights they'd return to base, Adam holding up a limping Lawrence, blood pouring from a bullet graze on his thigh, Matt immediately tending to it with shaking fingers. Joel sitting on the couch with his hands fisted in his hair and breathing heavily, only stopping when Spoole inevitably leaned against him, taking Joel's weight as he finally relaxed and was pulled off of the edge of a panic attack.  
  
And Bruce would be with James. Pulling him to his bedroom and standing him against a wall, checking over every inch of him for blood or marks or grazes. Taking in the dull look in the other man's eyes before pulling him into the shower, clothes and all. An arm around his waist as he led them both under the too hot spray, trying to wake up from the what if's and could have been's. Eventually they'd both strip, leaving the wet clothes on the floor and cleaning each other off slowly, wiping the scorch marks from their faces and cleaning the blood left from grazes on their arms.  
  
They'd dry each other off slowly before making their way to the bed, impossibly warm from the water and hands on each other instantly. No one disturbs them, they know they won't see them both until midday tomorrow when they'll all sit together in pensive silence before someone cracks a joke and they're okay. They know they were close but they're still there, still together.

Bruce maps every inch of James' skin, his heart tight in his chest when he tries to remember the last time he needed the other man this much. It ignites him, has him shaking with it until he's working James against the mattress, whispering the things they both keep locked in their minds, stuttered 'I love you's' and 'never leave me's' desperately accompanied by a thrust and a kiss. Their foreheads pressed together as they breathe each other in and offer themselves up to feeling alive and never wanting to let it go.

Bruce sees stars and constellations in James' eyes, hears symphonies in his almost inaudible groans and he inhales it all. Let's it seep into his bones and drug his mind until all he is is James and all James is is him. He feels tears gather in his eyes when he cums, and James always holds him, kissing his face and stroking his back, enveloping him and covering him and Bruce thinks that this must be what heaven is like or very fucking close at least.

They don't sleep. They just lay together, legs tangled and Bruce resting his head on James' chest, counting every heart beat against his ear, shivering slightly from James' fingertips skirting softly over the skin of his arms. They watch the room slowly change from black, to grey. Purple to pink. They listen as someone in the kitchen starts making coffee, muttered conversations taking place as the others who undoubtedly also haven't slept, start their day. The hopefulness of the sun rising reminding them of who they are and why they do what they do.

Bruce knows why. Not just for the money and the infamy. But for his boys, because even though he knows he'd never be the same if a bad job went really bad, he also knows that they won't stop fighting, for and with each other. Each sunrise births a new day and each day brings a new memory they create together.

When Bruce and James join the rest of the guys they're all waiting, cups of coffee in hand and two set out for them. They sit in silence, sipping and basking in each others presence.

“I'm thinking some of chef Joel's famous crepes for breakfast”

“Joel you're not a chef, last time you cooked crepes they set the stove on fire”

“Adam that's not very encouraging”

“Neithers a breakfast that starts off with a fire extinguisher”

Bruce sits back against the couch, smiling to himself and taking a deep breath as the rest of the guys begin to talk, insults and jokes thrown backwards and forwards. They're okay, in fact, he thinks, they're perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> This is me trying out writing GTAV AU! I want to hopefully start a multichaptered fic but wasn't sure if I could write for this verse properly. We shall see!


End file.
